Assassin's Creed III: Rise
by Rougeification
Summary: Charles Lee is dead. The Patriots have won the war. Connor's missions are over - he is now at peace. However, a young boy from New York loses his father and friends to the Templars and cannot avenge them by himself, no matter how much he wants to. Can Connor teach and mentor this reckless and impulsive Irish boy like Achilles did to him once? 1st Person OC. W. Dawson's ancestor.
1. Prologue

I stood behind the crowds, hilt grasped and the blade tightly rubbing against my wrist. I used my other hand to pull my jacket closer around my stomach, covering up the two other knives I had strapped to my stomach.

I kept my head low and proceeded to move forwards, using my free hand to move past the figures until I saw my target: Victor Wolcott. He was responsible for the slums and the murder of my father.

I watched him drink with his comrades - all rough and tall men. I had no fear - as long as Wolcott died, I would have fulfilled my purpose. He was just drinking - no care was evident. It was as if he didn't think twice about killing.

As I drew closer to the table, lit up by the blazing lanterns all around the tavern, I was near enough to hear snippets of his conversation, although I was too determined to listen to him. I had one singular thought in my head - to kill Victor Wolcott.

The tavern became silent, as if everyone was anticipating what I was about to do. I grabbed the hilt more firmly, and Wolcott looked up at me - his eyes bore into me, as if he knew exactly what I was intending to do, as if he knew who I was.

His eyes narrowed.

In an instant, I dropped the hilt, catching the end of the blade and drawing my arm back to launch the knife at him.

"For Nathan O'Connell!" I yelled loudly, throwing the knife through the air, and towards Wolcott. I saw the knife spin off, glancing his shoulder. I then stuck my hands into my coat, pulling out the pair of knives as I sprinted to jump upon the table, intent on impaling him.

I felt an excruciating object penetrate into my side, and looked down to see the blade of rapier protruding from my stomach. I let out a gasp, then a loud groan, collapsing backwards as another set of arms wrapped around my chest.

I let out more groans of pain, and in the haze of crippling agony, I saw the armour-clad doctor walk towards me through the pathway now being formed by the entranced patrons within the tavern.

"Ladies and gentlemen," He said in his elaborate British accent, "It is my pleasure to introduce you all to the son of the late Nathaniel O'Connell: Nathan O'Connell Junior. Another Irish runt come to attempt to end my life - a member of that rag-tag group of crusty micks and even stealing from me: a man who saves lives." He drew closer to me, nodding towards the swordsman beside me. No... a swords_woman_.

"Very good Eleanor." He grinned widely, showing his impeccable white teeth. He turned towards me with his disgusting and anger-invoking smirk. I hocked up the blood in my mouth and spat it all out at the man, getting some upon his pure white teeth. His grin faded, and he produced a hankerchief, wiping off the stains and brushing his beard with it. "You know," he glanced down through his tinted spectacles, "I would say that was impolite." He moved around to replace Eleanor, and grabbed the hilt of her rapier. "But then again, a mick worm like you," he twisted the sword around, making me yell out in agony, "wouldn't know any better. Would you now?" I groaned, and he sharply withdrew the sword from my torso, wiping it down with his hankerchief and handing it back to Eleanor, who sheathed it.

"Chiseler." I groaned defiantly, looking Wolcott in each tinted rim. He burst out into a laugh, as did his comrades.

"Chiseler?" He chuckled, and turned around to a sight of beauty behind him - a woman with fiery-red hair and an emerald dress - eyes matching. "Gillian, have you ever heard of a chiseler?" She smiled seductively.

"I don't associate with the thieves and gangs." She said, her voice an epitome of class.

"Not even the younger McCarthy?" A man in behind the woman said - he wore a large, circular hat, but was clad in a missionary cassock, and in his arms he cradled a large pilgrim's staff. "I heard he too engaged in heathen activities." The priest advanced towards me, holding my chin up with the spear-like edge of his staff. "These Irish coming over and spreading their false God..." he muttered, examining my face. I groaned out again as the edge of the staff began to dig into my shin. He sharply dragged the staff across my face, scarring my lip. I hung my head low, groaning in pain as I was thrown onto the table.

Wolcott came towards me, holding a hand out.

"Davenport. If you would please." Another redcoat, standing next to Eleanor. The man withdraw a small knife from it's scabbard and handed it to Wolcott, who proceeded to examine my face. "Oh I wonder what I could find out about your mick brain... that is, if you do possess a brain." He smiled. My anger raged and I saw Wolcott's face near mine. I launched my head up, smashing my forehead into his nose. He let out a yell of anger and proceeded to punch his gloved hand into my face repeatedly, then scratched the blade along my torso repeatedly, making me yell out in agony.

As my vision faded into black, I heard vague voices.

"What now Victor?"

"Throw him into the frontier. Let the wolves have him."

My sight went to black as they tossed me out of the tavern.

**Not the best start I know, but it's just a prologue to what happens - the real story starts now!**


	2. The Davenport Homestead

**Hi guys! Hope you liked the last chapter! Another installment today - enjoy!**

I woke up gradually, rolling over to find myself in a bed. It was a makeshift one - not luxurious, but comfortable enough to sleep on - it beat kipping on the rubble of the old church in New York.

I rolled off the bed, looking at for my shirt, which was nowhere to be seen. I groaned as I sat up, tying up my laces of my boots, groaning as I had to bend down. I rubbed my ribs and sighed, then began to stand up, looking around for my shirt.

"I threw your shirt out." I looked around at the Scottish voice - a woman stood there. She had a homely smile on a fresh face. She seemed to be the age of a mother - a good few years older than myself, although she held herself like she was a lot older. "There was blood and tears all over it - it was like you've been in the wars." She smiled, then thought for a moment. "You look awful young - you weren't in the war were you?" I shook my head.

"Where am I?"

"Davenport Homestead." She said simply.

"The what?" She smiled.

"It's a small community. You look better now." I groaned, rubbing my head, feeling the scar across my lip. "I'm Diana." I nodded. "What's your name?"

"O'Connell."

"What's your Christian name O'Connell?"

"Nathan." She handed me a carved maple oak cup of water - it was cleaner than any I'd ever seen before. I drank it quickly, coughing and grabbing my ribs after I swallowed - my body was riddled with injuries.

"Been in some fights eh Nathan?" I looked down at the scars and bruises across my body, a majority of which were now covered in bandages; the most prominent being the sword wound in my stomach.

"You could say that." I muttered. "How long was I...?"

"A week." I sighed. "You talk a lot in your sleep."

"I do?"

"Well, that's what our Edie said." I furrowed my brow at the mention of the name. "My daughter. She helps me with the sailors sometimes."

"The sailors?"

"At the docks." She explained briefly. "When people are injured, me and our Edie help the doctor." She looked at me for a few seconds, checking to see if I would fall back onto the bed. "Are you well enough to walk?" She asked me. I nodded. "Well, I'll see if Ellen's-"

The door opened to a young girl - she wore a dress similar to her mothers, with her pale complexion, but had darker hair and chestnut hair. She flashed a brilliant smile as she walked in.

"Hello." She smiled. I returned the grin politely, but found no words to say - I was still out of my depth. "Can't you talk?"

"Of course I can talk." I replied.

"Irish." She stated simply. "I told you so mum." Diana rolled her eyes.

"Did you get the clothes?" Edie nodded.

"Ellen had to guess the size." She walked up to me, handing me the shirt and a long coat. I held them up - blue. They looked better then my dyed red shirt - my colours. I nodded.

"Thank you." I then glanced around, noticing my knives had gone. "Where have my knives gone?"

"Oh, they were dashed. I could fetch up Big Dave for you if you fancy?" I shook my head.

"That's not necessary-"

"No, it's no hassle lad." Diana then left, leaving me and Edie alone in the room. Edie smiled, then held up a tray, which happened to have a knife on it beside some bread. I grinned.

"It's fine - I'll pick up some more on my way." I said, pulling on my white shirt and buttoning it up. There was a low hood sewn into the collar, which I pulled up.

"You're leaving?" I nodded.

"I've got things to do."

"What things?" I decided not to answer. "How old are you?" I looked back at her, puzzled. "What?" I rubbed my stubble.

"I... I've never thought about it before..." I scratched my hair, thinking hard. "Quite young I'd reckon?" I saw her lips pull up into a smile. "What?"

"Everyone has an age silly."

"Well, how old are you?" I asked, pulling over the black waistcoat and buttoning it up.

"I'm seventeen." I nodded - okay, so that's what a fifteen-year-old girl looked like.

"So... how old would you reckon I am?" She thought for a moment.

"Not much older. A year or two by my reckoning?"

The thought then struck me - she'd been watching over me while I was sleeping.

"Thanks, by the way. For watching over me - Diana told me." She shrugged.

"It's no hassle." I began to pull on my coat, which was mainly blue, with white stripes, and pulled down the hood. It reminded me of a naval jacket - I groaned. "Is the fit bad?" I looked up at her.

"I look like a patriot." I murmured. She laughed.

"I think you wear it handsomely." She slyly smiled.

"Yeah well..." I shrugged. "Thank you... for everything."

"You can repay me by walking with me." She suggested. I waited a few moments, considering it. "Please?" I relented and nodded, following her outside of the house.

The sun was bright and warm, and I walked through the forest with Edie, who seemed very interested in my life. She was asking me about where I had grown up, how I'd got my scars, and most importantly, why I was dying in the frontier.

"Bar fight gone wrong." I lied. She suspected as much somehow, and moved swiftly on to another subject.

"So, what about your father? What does he do?"

"Not much." I sighed. "He's dead." Her grin faltered.

"I'm sorry..."

"It's been a month." I said quietly.

"How did he...?"

"Die? Killed outside our church. Men showed up trying to make us leave, and when my old man refused, they shot him down." I carried on walking, and soon felt Edie's arm wrap around mine. It felt... strange. First time I'd really been around a girl.

"So, what about your mother?"

"She died when I was quite young." I informed her.

"What part of Ireland do you hail from?"

"I don't. I was born in Boston." I explained. "But, my parents came from Cork, if that's what you're asking." She nodded, taking in all the information. "What about you? Scot right?"

"Edinburgh." She smiled. "We came here when I was very young. My father's a lumberjack. What did your father do?"

"He was... well, he was sort of a... leader."

"A leader?"

"Of a group of us. We lived in the Church." Her eyebrows raised as she realised what I was saying.

"Really? You're part of a gang?"

"Was." I corrected her. "We didn't set about trying to steal... it was just a way of looking out for each other."

"So you were a good gang?" She asked, skeptical.

"We were lead by a priest." I stated, causing her to giggle. "I've convinced you?" She nodded.

"You've convinced me." She confirmed. "So, what will you do when you leave? Go back to Boston?" I shook my head.

"New York."

"With your gang?"

"Yeah." I lied. My gang wasn't the reason I was going back to New York. I was going to kill Wolcott - I would definitely do it this time. He thought I was dead, which meant I had the advantage. Wolcott would die soon - even if it meant I did too.

"You haven't met Connor yet!" Edie finally said. I completely forgot about my revenge, realizing what she was saying.

"Who?" I frowned.

"He owns the Homestead now. After the old man died." I nodded, trying to understand.

"His father?"

"Not in blood." She sighed, looking up at the manor on the hill. "You should meet him!" She said excitedly.

"Oh, I'm not going to stay for that long-"

"No, it's good! He'll have some knives to give you!"

"I don't need any-" She tugged me by the arm through the forest and towards the large red-brick manor on the hill.

As we got to the door, she knocked impatiently on the door. I hung around by the white post, examining an aged slice against it, tracing it with my fingers. I narrowed my eyes, curious as to what had happened here...

"Let's try around the back." Edie said, running off around the house.

"No, we don't have to-" She was already gone. I followed her reluctantly, but as I travelled around to the back, past Edie examining the rooms through the windows, I noticed someone - a figure. He was standing near the cliff behind the manor, overlooking a large lagoon. He was clad in white robes, blue tails and carried a bow and quiver full of arrows.

I moved over towards him, curious about who he was. Could this be Connor?

"Connor?" I asked. The man turned around - he looked like a Spaniard, or maybe Italian. However, the mohawk and the bear claws around his neck told me he was a Native. I'd known a couple in New York as a child - they mostly kept to themselves, out in the frontier.

"I have not seen you around the Homestead before." He stated simply - a soothing sound to his voice.

"Connor! This is Nathan." Edie came over, smiling at me.

"Ah. You look very well."

"Well, I owe it to Diana and Edie." I rubbed the back of my head. I looked Connor up and down, seeing strange tools about him - a pouch with a short blade hanging off a rope, what I thought to be a tomahawk hanging off his belt, and other various pieces of equipment. Just what exactly did Connor do?

"They are very gifted with healing." Connor looked towards Edie. "Thank you Edie." Edie nodded and walked off.

"Wait, Edie! What-"

"Nathan."

"Yes? Wait, how'd you know my name?"

"I have some questions for you." I clenched my fists, ready to fight if I had to. There was something about Connor...

"Sure. Go ahead." He began to pace in front of me.

"You were brought here after being stabbed. I'm curious as to who did so." I shrugged in response. "Was it a doctor?" I paused, narrowing my eyes at Connor. Was he... did he know who Wolcott was?

"Yes." I said finally. Connor nodded.

"I must show you something." He informed me, and lead me back into the house.


End file.
